


A simple cup of tea

by Caveat_Lektor_52



Series: Remaking my old fanfics [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Set during Chamber of Secrets, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 15:18:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14108220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caveat_Lektor_52/pseuds/Caveat_Lektor_52
Summary: Funny how a simple cup of tea can say so much





	1. A simple cup of tea, made with love

**Author's Note:**

> Title—A simple cup of tea, made with love  
> Author—Caveat Lector 52  
> Disclaimer—Harry Potter is property of J.K. Rowling. I am merely doing this for fun, not profit.   
> Rating—K+   
> Characters/Pairing—Mrs. Weasley/Harry Potter family bonding  
> Length—864 words  
> Timeline/Spoilers—Chamber of Secrets, no spoilers   
> Summary—Funny how a simple cup of tea can say so much.   
> Author's Note— Originally, I wrote this for Hogwarts Online month of May “Free as a bird” challenge. I’ll be putting the link at the end of my story, in case anyone wants read the other participants’ entries. (All of which I highly recommend.)   
> Author’s notes #2 (03/26/2018)--The original, about six years. I’ll admit, it’s one of my favorites. I just love Harry and Molly’s relationship. I don’t think it’s too bad overall, but you can tell I was in my “Tell, don’t show” phase.

Mrs. Weasley sipped at her tea, humming with content. It was the perfect temperature, and flavored with just the right amount of honey. There was something to be said about doing things the muggle way. Tea made by magic just didn’t taste the same. She knew it was a cliché, but she thought it was because it lacked love. 

She had gotten up before anyone else—as was her custom—and was enjoying a few moments of peace before her rowdy family came bounding down the stairs for breakfast. Oh, and her unexpected guest. Though Harry wasn’t what you’d call rowdy. He’d been living at the Burrow for less than a week, and was already reminding Molly of a love-starved puppy, so eager to please. And from what Ron told her about his home life, she wasn’t the least bit surprised. 

The red haired matron’s eyes narrowed. What sort of people could lock a twelve year old up like a prisoner? And in the boy’s own room too, a place he was supposed to feel safe in! She was shaken from her angry thoughts by the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. They didn’t belong to any of her brood, so she assumed it must be Harry. Realizing it wouldn’t be long before everyone got up as well; Molly moved to the kitchen and, with a flick of her wand, gathered the ingredients of biscuits and gravy. 

She’d just put the first batch in to bake when Harry ambled in, adjusting the hem of his jumper. She was touched to see it was the one she knitted him last Christmas, and also noted how small it was getting. She’d have to make him a new one once the holidays rolled around, and maybe some socks too. 

He grinned at her brightly. “Good morning.” 

“Good morning dear, did you sleep well?” He nodded, going over to the cupboard and pulling the breakfast dishes out. It was an automatic jester for him, having spent so much time cooking and cleaning for the Dursleys. Mrs. Weasley told him he didn’t have to, but helping out made him feel less like a freeloader, and after a few days she let it drop. 

‘It’s so much better than the Dursleys,’ Harry thought for what must’ve been the hundredth time, placing a fork in front of Fred’s usually seat. Not only did he get three square meals a day—with seconds and dessert too!—but he was no longer an outsider either. The Weasleys, all the Weasleys, liked him. He could be himself, let is guard down, and talk about things that really mattered to him like Hogwarts and flying. 

It was more then he’d ever hoped for. 

“. . . Harry?” 

“Huh?” he was so lost in thought that he missed Mrs. Weasley’s question. He halfway expected a scolding, but Molly just dusted her flour coated hands off and repeated the question patiently. 

“Would you like a cup a tea, dear?”

Harry wasn’t particularly fond of tea, but the morning air was slightly chilly, and it’d be nice to have something warm in his stomach while waiting for the rest of the family to awaken. “Yes, please.” 

He was surprised when she pocketed her wand and filled the kettle by hand. After placing it on the stovetop to heat up, she opened a draw and fished out a tin of tea leafs. Wandering close, Harry inhaled their aroma, picking up a variety of different herbs. 

“I always make tea the muggle away,” Molly explained, carefully pouring the now hot water into a plain white china cup. “My mum did too. She taught me when I was a girl. Do you want honey? Sugar? Lemon?” 

“Sugar, thanks,” Harry took a tiny sip, so as not to burn his tough. Aunt Petunia rarely made him tea, but when she did it was always harsh, thin and bitter (not unlike the woman herself). This was completely different: warm, fragment and sweetened to perfection. He took another, deeper drink. Funny how a simple cup of tea could make him feel so . . . he didn’t even know how to describe it, but it was just about the best feeling in the world. 

He raised his head, wanting to thank Mrs. Weasley again, when very loud thumping noises from up above startled them both. It sounded like a heard of tap-dancing hippos. 

“Mum!” Ron called down. “Fred and George bewitched my shoes—OW!” this was followed my some rather colorful language, and the twins howls of laughter. 

Mrs. Weasley sighed; those two would be the death of her. “I’ll be right there, Ron,” she called. “Could you keep an eye on the gravy?” she added to Harry.

“Sure,” he was busy trying not to snicker at poor Ron’s expense. 

Molly smile softly and briefly touched his messy black hair. “Thank you love,” and then she was gone, sweeping up stairs, leaving Harry along in his amusement. 

He finished the last of his tea, and he knew then exactly what this simple cup of tea made him feel: loved. 

And that was, he thought, the very best feeling in the world wide world.


	2. A simple cup of tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Funny how a simple cup of tea can say so much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title--A simple cup of tea  
> Author—Caveat Lector 52  
> Rating/warnings--General audiences, no warnings  
> Timeline/spoilers--Takes place during Chamber of Secrets, no spoilers  
> Disclaimer--Harry Potter and all related property of J.K. Rowling  
> Character(s)/Pairing(s)--Molly Weasley and Harry Potter  
> Word count (doesn't include A/Ns)--760  
> Summary--Funny how a simple cup of tea can say so much  
> Author's note--For the second go around, I fixed the spelling and grammar, and also removed some of the more in your face symbolism. Still not 100% happy with the ending, but I’m learning to live with it.

Molly Weasley sipped at her tea, humming with content. It was the perfect temperature, flavored with honey and a hint of lemon. Some disagreed, but she thought brewing it the muggle way produced the best results. Tea made by magic seemed to lack an essential component, what Molly could only describe as love. 

She was enjoying the last few minutes of peace before her rowdy family woke-up. Oh, and her unexpected guest. Not that Harry was anything close to rowdy. He'd been with them less an a week and already reminded Molly of an attention-starved puppy. From what Ron told her of his home life, she wasn't the least bit surprised. 

The red haired matron's eyes narrowed. What sort of people put bars on a twelve year old's room? Yes, he shouldn't have used magic, but that was a rule everyone broke at least once. His relatives overreacted, and Molly was willing to bet that wasn't the first time. She was pulled from her angry thoughts by the sounds of footsteps coming downstairs. They didn't belong to any of hers, so she knew it was Harry. 

Molly moved to the kitchen. It wouldn't be long before everyone else got up as well, and she needed to get breakfast underway. She was working on the potatoes when Harry ambled in, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He was wearing the jumper she'd knitted him for Christmas, and she noted how small it was getting. She'd have to make him a new one once the holidays rolled around, and some socks, too.

He graced her with a shy smile. "Morning, Mrs. Weasley." 

"Good morning, did you sleep well?" 

He nodded, going over the cupboard and pulling the breakfast dishes out. It was an automatic thing for him, after spending his left cooking and cleaning for the Dursleys. Mrs. Weasley told him he didn't have to, but it made him feel like less of a freeloader. 

'It's so much better here than the Dursleys,' he thought for what must've been the hundredth time. He got three square meals a day--with seconds and desserts too! Nobody told him to shut up when he asked questions, or belittled him, or locked him away. All the Weasleys seemed to like him, and not because of his fame either. For the first him, he felt he could let his guard down and just be himself. Not "That worthless freak" or "The boy who lived," but plan old Harry Potter. 

It was more than he ever hoped for. 

". . .Harry?" 

"Huh?" He hadn't realized Mrs. Weasley was speaking to him. He expected a scolding, but she dusted her hands off and repeated the question. 

"Would you like a cup of tea, dear?" 

He wasn't very fond of tea, but it was a chilly morning, and it's be nice to have something warm in his stomach. "Yes, please."

It surprised him when she pocketed her wand and filled the kettle by hand. After placing it on the stove top to heat up, she opened a draw and fished out a tin of tea leaves. Wandering close, Harry inhaled their aroma, picking up a variety of different herbs. 

"I always make it the muggle way," Molly explained, pouring the hot water into a plan white mug. "My mother taught me how when I was a girl. Do you want honey? Sugar? Lemon?" 

"Sugar, please," Harry took a tiny sip, not wanting to burn in tongue. Aunt Petunia rarely made him tea, but when she did it was always harsh and bitter. This was completely different: warm, fragment, and sweetened to perfection. Funny how a simple cup of tea could conjure up so many emotions he couldn't name. 

He was about to thank Mrs. Weasley again, when there was a loud thump from upstairs. Followed by another and another, each louder than the last. It sounded like a herd of tap-dancing elephants. 

"Mum!" Ron hollowed, "Mum, Fred and George bewitched my--OW!" What followed was some rather colorful language and the twins' howls of laughter. 

Mrs. Weasley sighed. Those two would be the death of her. "Coming, Ron," she called. "Can you watch the gravy for me?" She asked Harry. He nodded, trying not to snicker at poor Ron's expense. 

Molly smiled and briefly touched his messy black hair. "Thank you, dear." Then she was gone, sweeping up the stairs, leaving Harry alone with his amusement. He finished the last of his tea, trying to give name what it made him feel. Loved, he decided. 

It was the very best feeling in the world.


End file.
